


The Case of the Screaming Detective

by WhatLocked



Series: Established [3]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Case Fic, Ghostly children, Happy Halloween to you all!!!, Haunted House, John is very sweary - but for a very valid reason, M/M, Not dead dead people, Orgasm Delay, Screaming Spectres, Slight Bondage, but not really, halloween fic, rough-ish sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-29
Updated: 2016-10-29
Packaged: 2018-08-27 17:46:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8410753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatLocked/pseuds/WhatLocked
Summary: Sherlock pulls a prank on John while on an apparent case so John feels the need to get him back.  The fact that it is halloween is just a very convenient coincidence.





	1. John

**Author's Note:**

> As a general rule, I don't participate in any Halloween festivities, but in the spirit of the (not so) holiday I thought I would celebrate by writing, and sharing, porny-smut. Happy Halloween and big spooky hugs to you all!!!

~~~~~~~~~~

Johns heartbeat was thumping at double speed, quite possibly at triple speed, as the fear that had originally sped up the beating of his heart turned into a seething anger that was currently directed at the laughing, arsehole of a partner he had, who was actually wiping away tears from the corners of his eyes.   _Fucking_  t _ears for fucks sake!_   

“You’re a day early” John deadpanned as his heartbeat slowed down to a respectably healthy level and Sherlock straightened up, his laughter turning into sporadical chuckles.  The person on the slab, now forgotten, was silent as she slunk off towards the exit, sheet wrapped around her body, toe tag still attached to her big toe, making a  _swish-clip_  noise every step she took with her right foot.

John was going to fucking kill him.  Not just for almost giving him a heart attack, but for everything else that had happened that day as well.

It had started at 4:20 that morning.  John had been woken, from a very comfortable sleep, by Sherlock yanking back the blankets and slapping his cotton clad backside with an “Up you get John.  We have a case!”  

The case turned out to be a missing girl, a series of cult like symbols decorating her living room, traces of hemlock, mixed with blood in an oak bowl sitting on the fireplace mantel and a dead black cat hanging in the fireplace.  The so-called case had led the two of them around to some of the darkest, dankest, most morbid parts of London. After the girls apartment, there was Highgate Cemetery, which involved a little bit of B&E, due to the fact that the place wasn’t open to the public for another 3 hours.  John had been subjected to having to kneel in a muddy puddle, while Sherlock used Johns back to hoist himself over the fence. Then there was The London Stone, a lovely little pub where a person of unknown gender tried to cop a feel while John waited for Sherlock to question the heavy set, leather-clad woman with more eyeliner than John ever thought existed.  The person doing the groping had been bold, groping his arse so low that fingers had nudged the back of his ball sack.  It would  most definitely be the last time John stood in an unfamiliar place, leant over,  _slightly_ , on the bar while he absentmindedly tried to beat Sherlocks flappy bird score.  John had never seen Sherlock glare so hard at anyone, as he did this boy or possibly girl,  in his life, but he didn’t get to contemplate that for very long as once Sherlock had finished glaring at the androgynous person who dared touch what he deemed as his property, he then yanked on Johns arm, dragging him from the pub and John had no choice but to keep up, lest his arm get pulled from its socket.  After that came the good old Vauxhall Arches where, as usual John wasn’t allowed to speak to any homeless people because he apparently still looked ‘ _too right._ ’  He still didn’t know what that meant, but it apparently didn’t stop people asking him for money or trying to sell him drugs.   Once that was done they traipsed down, illegally, to a disused railway, which led them to John tearing his jacket on a rusted piece of metal that had been sticking out of the wall and also to clues that John couldn’t cypher, but Sherlock saw straight away. They then found themselves on the estate of some crazed aristocrat who grew poisonous plants and kept swans.  God damn fucking swans!!  And of course, John was practically chased from the gardens, back to the house, whilst Sherlock perused through the owner of said fucking swan’s ‘ _unique and utterly fascinating collection of rare horticulture samples_.’  John just took his word for it and followed Sherlock to the local university of arts and social sciences where John had to haul Sherlock away, before he was pummelled into unconsciousness because he felt the need to deduce several uni students of the larger, bulkier kind.  It was after that,  that they eventually wound up in the morgue, where John was just looking over the very dead looking Maria Greenslade, only to have the absolute fucking living shit scared out of him when she suddenly opened her eyes and grabbed his arm, whispering something or other that he couldn’t hear over his girly scream and Sherlocks outright laughter.  

Fucking prick.

“That was priceless, John.  Who knew your voice range could get so _high_?”

“You’re a fucking arse.  I almost broke her fucking arm.”  John’s voice was low.  Dangerous.  He didn’t care that he was probably overreacting.  Sherlock had dragged John out of a nice warm bed, hauled him around London just so he could then end the, quite frankly, horrid day 17 hours later, with a drama student, on a slab in the morgue - who was by all accounts dead, but then suddenly wasn’t as she gripped Johns arm, while whispering “You will never get aw….”

John hadn’t heard the rest as that is when the quite embarrassing high pitch scream left his mouth and he wrenched the not so dead hand off his wrist, pushing her away, so hard that she actually slid on the metal bench a good inch or so, all the while stumbling back.

She had been dead.  She was pale and cold and had no pulse.  Her eyes hadn’t dilated when he checked them.  She hadn’t been breathing for fuck sake.  There was no reason to expect her to grab his arm.

“Happy Halloween” Sherlock chuckled and took a step towards John, his arm out in that fashion that had become so familiar, the one that indicated he was going to pull John into an embrace.  John stepped back.  

“Like I said.  You’re a day early” and with that, John turned and marched out of the morgue, Sherlock following quickly behind, one last wayward chuckle leaving his mouth as he caught up to his grumpy soldier.

“Well, I couldn’t very well organise it for tomorrow” Sherlock informed him, ignoring Johns not so jovial mood ,slowing down his stride so they stalked the basement corridors at the same speed.  

“No, god forbid we miss the _actual_  nutter committing a _real_  bizarre crime, and not some perfectly sane person pulling a prank on the man who is generally in charge of his orgasms.”

“Exactly, John” Sherlock agreed and they continued down the corridor in silence, until Sherlock felt the need to speak.  “You’re not actually going to withhold sex, are you?” he asked, just a hint of worry tinting his voice.  John answered by throwing a look up at the taller man, a look that didn’t actually answer anything at all.

~o~

The answer was, no, John was not going to withhold sex, because the truth was, Halloween saw some of the strangest cases they had ever had, which meant that if this year was to follow the same trend then Sherlock would be too consumed with some oddly bizarre murder after that night, so John was going to get his fill before a possible week long drought started.  

That night he brought Sherlock to orgasm twice,  first by giving him a thorough rogering over the kitchen table, the cock ring staving off Sherlocks impending orgasm to the point where the taller man was sobbing for release and the second time in their bed, with Sherlocks wrists wrapped in silk scarves, tied to the bedposts and Johns mouth around his cock.  John had made sure the arsehole worked for each release, drawing it out as long as possible and then some more, making the man beg and plead.  It was only fair.

“That wasn’t fair” Sherlock mused once they were both settled under the blankets, the dark of night wrapped around them and John grinned a lazy smile as he thought just how very fair it was.

“You didn’t give me a chance to make you scream again.”

Johns smile dropped.  “And maybe you won’t get another chance for some time” he warned and rolled so his back was to Sherlock.  There was no real heat behind the threat, but that didn’t stop John from making it.  After all, the scream had been quite undignified - not something he wanted to be reminded of  - and short of making such threats there was no way that he was going to get Sherlock to stop bringing it up any time in the near future.  Unless…

Sherlock shuffled up against John’s back and snaked an arm around his waist.  “It was almost a very manly scream” Sherlock murmured into the crook of John’s neck.  “Very…endearing.”

John let out a small huff.  He’d give him bloody endearing.  “Yes, well, just keep in mind that there may possibly be some form of retribution in the near future.”

A small breathy laugh left Sherlocks mouth and John could feel it ghosting against his skin.  “You have never been able to out prank me, John, but if trying will make you feel better, then by all means, try away.”

“Hmmm.  I might just” John replied, already forming a plan and figuring out the best way, and who he would need to employ, to pull his plan off seamlessly.   Once he felt the gently steady rhythm of a sleeping Sherlock against the side of his neck he carefully reached over to the bedside table, careful not to jostle the slumbering man wrapped around him, and retrieved his phone, where he tapped out a message and sent it off.  He would get Sherlock back for today and the man would scream, if John was lucky, louder than John had himself.

 


	2. Sherlock

~~~~~~~~~~

“Really, John.  A fake spider?”  With unamused disinterest Sherlock stared at the rubbery ball that was hanging from the bathroom door frame, Just at his eye level.  The steam seeping out around his semi-naked form and around the spider would have made an impressive effect, if the prank hadn’t been so lame and the spider so clearly fake.

John’s laugh, which hadn’t quite made it out of his mouth, dropped away and he shrugged his shoulders.  “Gotta give it a try” he said and turned around and slumped back out of the bedroom.  Sherlock rolled his eyes and, using the hand not holding the towel around his waist, he swatted the poor imitation or a tarantula and made his way into their bedroom to get dressed, with a deep seated dread that today was going to be filled with poor attempts, on Johns behalf, at getting back at Sherlock for the quite ingeniously thought out success at giving John an early halloween fright yesterday evening.  Just the thought of John’s reaction made Sherlock grin a half-cocked smile as he pulled on a pair of pants.

As he came out to the kitchen it was to find John reading a text on his phone.

“Case?”  Sherlock asked, images of odd and gruesome displays of criminal activity running through his head.  The anticipation of a good case dropped away as John shook his head and tapped out a reply.  

“Nah, just Greg wanting to know if I want to catch up for a drink later on.”

“Tell Greg, no, because Lestrade is bound to be messaging us any time now with something far more intriguing than _a drink_.” Sherlock said, impatient at the fact that John was making plans on one of the most interesting nights of the year, and at the fact that he was making plans to go out to participate in activities that held no interest for him what so ever.

“You are aware that Greg and Lestrade is the same person, right?” John asked, stopping his abysmally slow texting to look up at Sherlock with a smug sort of grin.  Sherlock hated that grin.  It meant that he had outwitted Sherlock, and that just was not on.

“Of course I do” he scoffed, maybe vaguely aware of having this conversation before.

The grin didn’t go away.  “It’s just, the way you used his first _and_ last name just then sort of made it sound like…”

“I can’t help the way your tiny brain  interprets what I am saying, John” Sherlock interjected, stalking past John to retrieve the cup of tea that was waiting on the kitchen bench for him, courtesy of the man behind him.  John truely was a good find.

“Hmmm” was all the response he got from John as he finished typing out his response to Lest…to Greg.

“Well, since so far there has been nothing interesting happen, how about we go out somewhere?”

Sherlock was about to reject the idea, but then thought it would be better than hanging around waiting for John to try and unsuccessfully scare him again.  It wasn’t due to the hopeful tone in Johns’ voice at all that swayed him to answer with, “Why not.  We could always see who tried to dig up a grave again this year at the cemetery.”  That was a rather amusing case from last year, which John clearly remembered as the grin appeared on his face again, this time less smug and he replied with, “Sounds perfect.”

~o~

“I can’t believe you thought that would work.” Sherlock frowned as he looked at the skeletal hand like branch laying on the ground.  “Seriously, John.  That was a primary school prank at best.  I am actually insulted that you thought that sneaking up behind me and edging that over my shoulder would even startle me, let alone make me scream, which by the way, I don’t do.”

John let a small ‘ _hmph_ ’ of frustration and gave the branch a small kick, as if it were to blame for John being lame.  He never had been good at besting Sherlock in anything outside of the bedroom.  And maybe fighting.  As well as cooking.  And possibly shooting, okay- definitely shooting.  But definitely nothing involving carefully thought out intellect.  That was most definitely Sherlocks forte and the sooner John realised this the sooner he would stop embarrassing himself.

~o~

“Please tell me you didn’t pay her to do that, John”  Sherlock groaned as the woman, posing as a store front mannequin continued to pull what was supposed to be a ghastly face at them from behind the glass from where she stood.

“Actually, I had nothing to do with this one” John answered, sounding just as unimpressed as Sherlock, and together they moved on.

~o~

“While hypertrichosis is a real thing, John, it most certainly does not produce results such as these”  Sherlock looked from the man in the very poorly made and very vinyl and horse hair mask, to his partner with a cocked eyebrow.  “Plus, this man has been following us since we stopped at the deli so you could get a sandwich.  He isn’t very inconspicuous.”  

John leant around Sherlock and gave an apologetic sort of nod towards the other person sitting on the bench and the _werewolf_ got up and walked away, his shoulders slumped in defeat.

“If I promise to act scared at your next attempt at scaring me will you promise to stop?”

John let out a relented sigh of resignation.  “Fine, if it bothers you that much I’ll stop trying.  It’s not like I’m going to be able to get you back for yesterday anyway.”

Sherlock grinned a small satisfied smirk.  “No, you won’t.”

Together they stood up and headed out of the park in the direction of home.  “If you really want, I’ll let you wear the vampire teeth tonight and I’ll pretend to be a blushing virgin sacrifice, like in that ridiculous movie we watched last year, terrified and trembling for my very virtue.”  Sherlock was pleased to see that this brought a soft chuckle from his partner.

~o~

“A case, John” Sherlock bellowed up the stairs. They had barely made it home, Mrs Hudson stopping Sherlock in the hall to tell him, once again, that certain, _private,_ things shouldn’t be left out in public areas, such as in their kitchen, especially at her time of life.  Sherlock was saved from the rest of the conversation, no doubt detailing how she had found the cock ring that was left on the kitchen table after the first time John had fucked him last night.  How their 72 year old landlady knew what a TPR cock ring ball banger was, Sherlock was not keen to find out so as his phone beeped out a text alert, he let out a sigh of relief, holding his hand up to Mrs Hudson, stopping her speech mid-sentence as he read the text.  

“Sorry Mrs Hudson, gotta dash” and that led him to calling John down from their flat.

Before long they were in a cab towards New Scotland Yard, while Sherlock texted Lestrade trying to get more details than, “ _Have a strange one, at least a seven, if your interested.”_

“I have this friend up in Loughton” Lestrade started, once the two of them were settled in front of his desk.  Sherlock frowned.  Loughton was an hours drive away.  This had better be good.  Lestrade continued.  “Every year, especially around this time, they have a lot of odd things happening.  99% percent of it is put down to kids being kids, but this year…” and here he trailed off.

“Yes” Sherlock prompted impatiently.  “This year…?”

“Well, two kids have gone missing” Lestrade finished up, somewhat lamely and Sherlock let out a frustrated huff of barely repressed annoyance.  

“Simple” he spat.  “Two kids, pretending to be lost in an apparently notorious _spooky_ location.  Guaranteed, tomorrow they will make a miraculous return, with no recollection of what happened.  It’s a trick Lestrade, something to get the wind up the local residents because it is halloween.  You seriously called me down her for this!”

Lestrade looked up at Sherlock, the impatience in his own eyes only just noticeable.  “There is more to it” he explained carefully, making sure that Sherlock understood that it wasn’t just a simple case of kids mucking around.  Sherlock rolled his eyes and flopped back in the chair, willing to listen to whatever drivel Lestrade had before he could reinforce his original theory.

“The girl that was with the kids, her name is Ellie, she’s the daughter of the local DI up there, my friend.  She’s a responsible girl, and knows what happens to those who waste police time.  She’s not the sort to pull a prank like this one.  She’s  a sensible girl.  Probably too sensible if you ask me.”

Sherlock looked from Lestrade to John, to see John silently doodling in his notebook, pretending to take notes.  Clearly even he thought this was a waste of time, but they let Lestrade continue.

“She was found, on the outskirts of Epping forest, concussed, with blood running down her face and sizeable lump on her head, mumbling nonsense about kids who weren’t really there.  Eventually, they got her lucid enough to say that she had taken the Wilson twins for a walk through the forest, she was babysitting them, and suddenly there were six other children surrounding them, telling the twins to come and play, closing in around the three of them.  Ellie tried to get them to leave but they got closer and closer until they were touching her and the other two.  Apparently as they got closer Ellie swears that she could see through them, see the trees behind them, and that is when she passed out, hitting her head. When she came to, she was alone.”

Silence fell over the room once lestrade had finished.  John had stopped scribbling in his notebook and was staring at Lestrade.  

“Drugs” Sherlock offered, and Lestrade shook his head.

“They have done a tox-screen, and are waiting on the results, but I doubt very much that Ellie took drugs.  She’s the type that won’t eat animals and processed sugars and all that garb.  Is a full on health junkie.”

“Maybe she was unknowingly exposed.  Baskerville ring any bells?”  Sherlock ignored the indignant huff coming from Johns direction.

Again with the shake of the head.  “I mentioned that to my mate.  They have had people out there searching the area, not only for the twins, but also for anything that may disperse gases or mists into the air.  They came up with nothing.  Not even any unusual plants in the area.”

Sherlock thought for a moment.  “What else is in the area?” he asked, needing a bit more to go on before he decided whether or not he would take the case.

“About 150 yards or so from where she saw the kids is a derelict house.  Apparently the twins wanted to go there to look for ghosts, but Ellie felt that they were close enough.”

“The house has a history.”  It wasn’t a question, but was confirmed by a short nod from Lestrade.

“Back, early last century, a man killed his kids and buried them in the forest, then went back and hung his wife on a hook in the barn, let her bleed out.  He was never found.”

Sherlock rubbed his hands together slowly as he thought it through.  He would have to speak to the girl, Ellie, to see for himself if she was lying or not, and he would also need to view the site where she lost the twins.  The old house would need to be explored as well.  Sherlock fought hard to keep the glee from showing on his face.  He hadn’t had a good haunted house yet.  Maybe this years halloween case was going to provide just that.

“We’ll take it” he announced standing up.  “You may come and collect me and John in an hour.”

“I can  - I can what?” Lestrade stuttered.

“I expect that you are taking us up to Loughton to meet your friend.  We will need time to pack an overnight bag.”

“What about the train”  Lestrade pointed out.

“Again, I suspect you would like to introduce us to your friend, especially after the last out of town case we had.”

Lestrade let out small groan and rubbed his hands over his face.  “Fine” he murmured from behind his hands and then looked up at Sherlock.  “Give me an hour and a half.  I’ve got things I need to tie up here.”

“Until then.  Come on John” And he made his way out of the office, making a valiant effort not to do a small dance of glee over another fascinating case and trailed on down the corridor towards the elevator, John following faithfully behind as ever.

~o~

The conversation with Ellie O’Donnell was, putting it mildly, a painful event.  She oscillated between a zombie like trance and sobbing tears the entire time, her words making little to no sense.  In the end, John had called an end to the interrogation and physically hauled Sherlock from the room.

“Clearly, she is in shock, Sherlock” he had hissed when Sherlock had sputtered like a wet cat at being pulled away from the only witness they had.

A small argument had followed which saw John pulling out Captain Watson, something he very rarely did, but always got Sherlock to back down, feeling a tiny bit terrified.

After the hospital they had gone onto the local police station, where they were introduced to DI Bill O’Donnell.  He wasn’t much help either, basically telling Sherlock everything that Lestrade had passed on.  He was extremely distracted, which was rather frustrating and once again, John had had to physically pull Sherlock out of the room.  

“The man’s daughter is in hospital, for crying out loud, in a semi-psychotic state.  What do you expect.”

“I expect him to focus so we can get to the bottom of this” Sherlock replied, glaring at John as he spoke.  The glare shrunk back considerable once John pulled his Captain stance again and when Sherlock reentered the room that they were using to go over the case, he was considerably more quieter.

While Lestrade and O’Donnell chatted Sherlock looked through the case notes.  Jeremy and Jemima Clancy, eight years old, were the two that had gone missing.  Their mother was away in Scotland, currently on her way home after cutting her visit to her mother short.  Their father works at a mechanic and has an alibi.  Multiple alibis apparently, so both parents could be ruled out.   There was no one that the family had offended in any way and the children were apparently well liked by apparently everyone.  How quaint.

The history surrounding that part of the forest was much more interesting.  Back in 1903 on March the 5th the owner of the house, and adjoining slaughter yard, Mr Terrance Whyte, was seen traipsing through the forest in the early hours of the morning.  The few who had seen him said that he had been unresponsive and walking as if he were in a trance, not returning their greetings.  It is then rumoured that later that morning he returned to his house and killed all six of his children, four sons and two daughters, taking their bodies out to the woods to bury them all in shallow graves.  It is believed that he then returned to his home and woke his sleeping wife by dragging her out to the slaughter shed in the back yard, impaling her tied and gagged body onto one of the hooks that he used for the animals.  When she was found a few weeks later, she had showed signs of starvation and infection, leaning to the belief that she had taken a while to die.  Terrance Whyte hadn’t been seen since that morning.

“I want to see the site” Sherlock announced suddenly, causing the two men in the corner to look up at him unexpectedly.  John just sat across the desk from him tapping out another message. 

“Who are you texting?” Sherlock asked curiously, not caring about the two DI’s.

“Mike” John answered casually as he frowned and backspaced whatever it was he had typed and then resumed typing with a fierce look of concentration.

“Apologies if this case is keeping you from somewhere else” Sherlock responded, probably a bit too snappily, but he didn’t care.  John was supposed to be focusing on him, Sherlock Holmes, not chatting to bloody Mike Stamford, of whom he had seen the previous day.

“No, not at all”John answered, apparently unaware that Sherlock was in the middle of a sulk, as he locked his phone and pocketed it.  “Just letting him know that the lunch we organised for tomorrow is probably going to get cancelled.”

“Well, if your quite finished…”

“I am.”

“Then I would like to go to the scene of the abduction” and at this he turned his attention back to the two police officers just in time to see a smug smile fall off of Lestrades mouth.  Sherlock narrowed his eyes, but decided it was something to be dealt with later.

~o~

The forest was, as predicted, unextraordinary.  There were trees and shrubbery and dirt.  The section that had been cordoned off was just about as uninteresting as the rest of the woods.  There was a rock, with dried blood on it, presumably where Elli hit her head, and there were multiple footprints.  Too many to get any information from.  Some small prints could be made out but most of it had been disturbed or replaced by the larger prints of the people investigating the disappearance.  There was nothing else to note, especially as they were looking by torch light. 

“Where’s the house?”  Sherlock asked, looking around with his torch for any sign of a path.  There was none.

“This way” Lestrade stated, swinging his torch to the west and heading off, away from the scene.  John and Sherlock followed silently behind.

It didn’t take long for them to reach the house, despite Lestrade taking them in circles no less than twice.  

“The Slaughter House” Lestrade announced as they came up to an old, simple stone structure.  “Has been left empty since Whyte supposedly killed his family back in the early 1900’s.  Obviously, as you can see, vandals and kids looking for a frightfully good time come out here, but no one has bothered to buy and do anything with the building.”

“No electricity or water?” Sherlock asked, although he already knew the answer. 

“Not even an indoor toilet” Lestrade responded.  “All their water came from the river there” and he indicated to a narrow, but flowing river that ran behind a small wall on the left hand side of the structure.  

“For it’s time it was considered a large house, but that wasn’t unusual since the wife came from money and Whyte himself made a fairly descent living as a butcher.  Behind the house there used to be several acres of farm land but that has since been taken over by the forest.  Locals are too scared to even build there.”

Sherlock shook his head.  People were idiots.  “Well, shall we?” Sherlock asked, gesturing towards the house.  Lestrade gave a nod and led the way.  John went to follow, but Sherlock snatched out a hand and grabbed his arm, halting his progression.

“You’re awfully quiet” he said in a low murmur next to Johns ear.  “You have hardly said anything since we got to Loughton.  Are you okay?”

John looked up at Sherlock and gave him a small reassuring smile.  “Fine” he stated simply.

Sherlock narrowed his gaze at him, not sure if he was lying or not.  “Is this about yesterday?”

Johns small smile dropped away to an epic eye roll.  “No, Sherlock, this is not about yesterday.  It is not about anything, because there is nothing here.  Now, can we get inside so you can do your thing and find these kids, yeah.  Go on.  Impress me” and the small smile was back, this time with a cocky lilt to it.

“You two love birds coming, or is it all too scary for you” Lestrades voice called through the dark.  

A small snort of derision escaped Sherlocks nose at being called scared and without another word he stalked up to what once would have been a very wide path towards the house, moving his torch back and forth across the structure, taking in every detail.

It was a double story cottage made from ragstone, once grey, now black and green due to damp and moss.  The timber roof had collapsed in places and the front door was completely missing.  Any windows that weren’t boarded up with rotting, decaying wood, were completely missing, some of the stone work crumbling away from the original holes that once held glass.  Weeds, dried leaves and brambles stretched out all around the cottage, some even climbing up the walls.  Bits of rubbish littered what would have been the front yard but surprisingly, no one had taken to the walls with a can of spray paint.  

Sherlock made his way up to Lestrade, John by his side and they stopped at the door, waiting for who knew what.  “Is there a reason we are not proceeding?” Sherlock snarked.

“The place is obviously structurally unsound” Lestrade stated unnecessarily. “I would tell you to leave this until morning, but I have a feeling you would just sneak out in the middle of the night and explore it without me if we don’t go in now, because you are _both_ idiots” and with that final word he extended his wearied glare to John as well.  This just made both recipients of said glare grin.  Lestrade gave a small shake of his head, probably wondering why he even bothered.  Sherlock sometimes thought the same thing.

“We do this now, under the provision that if I say we evacuate, we evacuate, am I clear!”  It wasn’t a question, it was a command, to which John replied “Yes, Greg” straight away.  Sherlock just let out a small huff.  “Sherlock, are we clear?” Lestrade all but growled.

With a put upon sigh Sherlock drawled “Yes, Lestrade.  You say go, we go.  Can we proceed.”

Lestrade gave his blessing by a sweep of his hand towards the gaping hole that was once a doorway and with a pointed glare, Sherlock took the first step into the Slaughter House.

It was just what he had expected.  Rubbish - crisp packets, used condoms; beer cans - littered the floor with dried leaves and a few plants that had managed to grow up through the now cracked cobblestoned floor.  There were a few small animal carcasses, mainly birds and finally the graffiti that Sherlock had expected to see outside.  Most of it was mindless tagging - a pointless waste of time and display of absolutely no talent.  The first room led off to a hallway, where the stairs to the second floor were.  Surprisingly, they didn’t look as decayed as he would have initially thought, but this half of the house was still reasonably roofed and had been spared the worst of the country weather, especially since all the windows in here were still firmly boarded.  

Sherlock walked past the stairs and moved to towards the other side of the house.  

“I’ll look upstairs”  Lestrade said from behind.  Sherlock gave a half a nod to indicate that he had heard and continued to move through the house.  “I’ll yell if I find anything, yeah.”

Sherlock ignored him and continued towards the next room.  

The next room turned out to be the kitchen, or what had once been the kitchen and it was a mess.  Here the floor above had completely collapsed, leaving a gaping hole to look up, not only to the next floor, but also to the night sky, as apparently the roof had come down there as well.  A bonfire of sorts had been set up on the middle of the room where, judging by the burnt handles and hinges, the makers of said fire had burned the doors that had once been attached to the door frames.  

Silently, John and Sherlock moved around the room, looking for clues that someone had permanently set up camp here or that two small children were being kept in the house.  

“Nothing that really indicates that the kids were here” John noted after a while.  

“No” Sherlock agreed slowly, running his hand along the top shelf in the pantry.  He grimaced when his fingers ran through something sticky and he pulled them back to see something dark and horridly smelling coating his fingers.  Possibly the remains of a dead rodent.  He shook off what he could and wiped the rest on the walls, just as the floor above him groaned and unsettle dust fell from what was left of the floorboards, onto his head.

“Anything up there?” he called to Lestrade, brushing the fall out from his curls.  

“Not so far” was the distant response and the cautious footsteps above continued.

Sherlock made his way out of the pantry and over to John.  “We should go and check the barn.  That is probable a more likely place to…”

Sherlock was cut of by a loud, pain-filled cry from up above, followed by a loud _thump._

“Greg” John called, and took off towards the stairs, Sherlock close at his heels.

Another cry, this one more panicked, sounded as they reached the foot of the stairs and the sound of multiple small footsteps could be heard running around the on the floors above, pitter-pattering lightly across the floor, accompanied by childish laughter.  By the time they reached the top of the stairs all was silent, except for the sound of both his and Johns heavy breathing, and the faint sound of the river, tumbling along outside.  Sherlock cocked his head from one side to the other, listening for any signs of Lestrade, while John frantically swept his flashlight along the what they could see of the upper floors, looking for any signs of movement.  There was nothing.  

“Greg”  John called out cautiously, his torch pointed down the end of the house they had last heard Lestrade.  There was no answer.  John turned to Sherlock and silently motioned for him to follow and they made their way to the other end of the house, John focusing on what was before them, while Sherlock kept a weathered eye behind them, incase whoever else was in the house came up behind them.  

The top floor consisted of one long hallway, with several doors, all leading to the back of the house.  Presumably these were the bedrooms.  As they passed each room, the doors missing from each one, Sherlock swept his torch in to have a quick look.  They were all the same.  Old furniture, bed frames and dressers, broken and left scattered across the floors.  Most of the windows on this level were mostly boarded up, with the odd plank missing here or there.  Dark stains splashed across the walls, and Sherlock thought back to how Terrance Whyte had killed each of his children, with an axe, in their bedrooms.  Wardrobes stood, gaping open, any doors remaining hanging on their hinges.  Dust settle on the floor, disturbed by one set of footprints that looked like Lestrades foot size.  No one else had been up here for at least a month.  There were eight rooms in total.  None of them appeared to be housing children.  Finally they reached the section of floor that had fallen into the kitchen.  

“In there” John hinted towards the door on the other side of the hole.  Sherlock made a quick calculation as to where, in the kitchen, the pantry would have been, and confirmed that, yes, that room would be directly above it.  The last place Lestrade had been before he was apparently attacked by laughing children.

The first thing that Sherlock noted when he entered the room was that, apart from an old wardrobe and what looked like may have been a double bed, was that it was empty.  The second thing was that there were only one set of footprints, leading into the room, but none leading out.

“Greg” John called out again.  He was answered by silence.  John urned to look in the final room in the house but Sherlock stopped him.

“He is in here somewhere” he told John in a low voice, not wanting to alert whoever else was clearly in the room somehow that he knew they were there.  “Footsteps go in, they don’t come out.  There are no footprints in the dust beyond this room, therefore he didn’t go into that room, but he didn’t leave this one either.”

“Then where in the hell is he?”  John was angry.  It was a mask to the fear he felt when people close to him were in danger.  

“That’s the question, though, isn’t it” Sherlock replied and took a slow, careful step into the bedroom. Stepping into the room revealed more.  There was a hole in the wall, leading from this one to the one they had walked past previously.  A hole large enough for a person to get through.  The walls in this room didn’t have dark stains like the others and Sherlock flipped through the Whyte case in his head.  The wife hadn’t been killed in the room.  Only bound and gagged.  On the wall, next to the door, the words, _Slut_ and _Whore_ had been written over and over again in black marker.  Clearly not a relic from the original murders.  In front of the wardrobe, an excess of dust on the floor had been unsettled, indicating that something large had been placed on the floor.  Something the size of a balled up grown man.  That would have been where Lestrade had fallen, but other than that there was nothing to indicate what had happened to him after that.  With a frustrated growl at the lack of sense this was all making Sherlock spun around to find that John was no longer in the door way.

A wave of panic started to rise in Sherlocks chest, but quelled once he saw a beam of light sweep past the hole in the wall.  Letting out a slow breath that he had been holding, Sherlock made his way over to the hole in the wall and squeezed through.

“Look at this” John said, sweeping his torch down to the corner of the room.  His torch illuminated a swaddle of fairly new blankets, a half eaten tin of spaghetti and a pair of children’s mittens.  The very same red and purple ones that Jemima had been wearing when she disappeared.

“They were here” Sherlock stated, sweeping his own torch around the room.  We need to check the other rooms.

“Greg…”John started to argue, but Sherlock cut him off.

“Whoever has the children is likely responsible fro Lestrade.  We find one, we find the other.  We need to search the other rooms.”

Without another word the two of them made their way out of the bedroom and towards the other five rooms.  “We’ll split up” John said as Sherlock turned into the next room.  Sherlock went to argue, still unsure what had happened to Lestrade, therefore not sure if it could happen to John and not willing to take the chance, but John cut him off.  “If we keep up a running commentary on what we see, we will both be able to hear each other” he suggested.  “It’ll get done quicker this way.  Greg sounded like he was in pain, the sooner we find him the better.  If I don’t hear from you after ten seconds, I’ll assume something is wrong” and with that he turned and marched towards the next bedroom.  

Reluctantly, but understanding Johns logic, Sherlock walked into the next room.  Gregs footprints went in, around the room and back out again.  There was the standard broken furniture and varying designs of graffiti on the walls.  Sherlock relayed all of this onto John and judging by the return commentary, the room next to his was the same.

They moved onto the next room.  This one was exactly the same as all the others, except as his torch swung around it caught a glimpse of light.  Sherlock stopped the torches movements and and slowly retraced its path back along the wall until it rested on a large oval mirror.  The mirror had been cracked and was tarnished in several places.  Shards had fallen from the frame and lay shattered on the floor beneath.  Sherlock stepped forward.  Even in its ruined state it seemed odd that this would remain, still on the wall and still fairly in tact.  As he was less that a foot away he heard it.  A muttered, angry whispering.  It seemed to fill the entire room.

“John” Sherlock called.  “Do you hear anything?”

Silence came from the room beside him and the whispering stopped.  “Only the river outside” was the response.  “Why?”

Sherlock thought for a moment and then decided it was nothing.  There was no one in the room, no way he had heard the whispers of a clearly incensed individual.  It was probably John trying to scare him again.  “Nothing” he replied and took another step towards the mirror.  As John’s commentary of the room beside Sherlock started up again, so did the whispering and it occurred to Sherlock that if John was talking, then there was no way that he could be whispering as well. Sherlock opened his mouth to call out to John again, but movement in the mirror caught his eye and he spun around to catch whoever it was that was behind him.  The room was empty and silent.  The whispering had stopped again and there were not even extra footprints in the dust.  With a final cautious look around the room, Sherlock turned back to mirror, deciding it had probably been a bird or something.  Once he was facing it again, the whispering started up again, this time louder and Sherlock could make out that whoever was muttering was in fact saying,  “ _Get out get out get out get out_ ” over and over again.  Once again Sherlock was about to call out to John, to warn him that there was someone in the house, someone who clearly did not want them there when he was stopped, again by movement in the mirror.  This time it was clear to make out, in the remaining cracked shards, that someone was coming up behind him.  Again he spun around to an empty room.  Panicked he turned back to the mirror and a hoarse cry left his mouth as staring back at him from cracked, tarnished glass was the face of a man, gaunt and pale, snarling crooked dirty teeth at him.  His eyes were dark and greying hair matted down with what looked like blood.  “ _Get out get out get out get out_ ” it whispered angrily and Sherlock wasted no time backing out of the room, a worried John meeting him at the door, obviously coming after hearing Sherlocks cry of shock ( _not_ fear).

“What happened” John asked, his hands running over Sherlock, looking for any obvious sign of injury.  Sherlock could only look back in the room to see that the mirror was once again, empty.  Nothing reflecting in it what so ever.

“Noth…” Sherlocks words stuck in his dry throat and he had to swallow, twice, to get the saliva flowing again.  “I just, I thought…we should stay together.  I think there is someone in the house” he finally stammered out.

John just looked at him, the concerned doctor taking over his features.  “Okay” he replied slowly.  “One more room, yeah” and he took Sherlocks hand in his and gently pulled him away from the room, away from the mirror, away from the whispering.

“If he’s not here, I’m checking that end room” John announced as they entered the final room. “I don’t care how eloquent or telling your dust is.  He has to be up here somewhere.”  Sherlock fully agreed.  There was no way he could have got downstairs without them being aware of it, but he also didn’t like the idea of staying up here any longer.  

As predicted, though, the room was just the same as all the others.  “Jesus fucking christ” John muttered, the expletives another indication that he was either worried or angry.  In this case, probably both.  “Where the fuck is he…”  Johns words were drowned out by a very loud, very real woman’s scream coming from outside.  “That came from the barn” John stated and before he knew it, Sherlock was left standing alone in the final room, listening to John thunder down the stairs.  A few seconds later and Sherlock was following.  As Sherlock alighted the final step he just caught a glimpse of John heading out the door, back into the night and quickly followed suit but once he got out side he was stopped in his tracks.  There, not even eight yards from the house, in the tree line of the forest, were three small figures.  It took Sherlock a moment to realise that he was looking at children.  Two boys and a girl.  All of them were in sleepwear, stripped pyjamas and an old fashioned white night dress.  All of them streaked with a dark substance.  All of them looking far too pale to be healthy.  Suddenly, more whispers could be heard, they seemed to fill the air around the house.  “ _You shouldn’t be here.  You should have left_.”  Sherlock took a step forward, only to stop when they took a step forward.  “ _You can’t go now.  You have to stay with us_.”  The three children continued to move closer and the closer they got, the more transparent they got.  Ellie’s drugged out voice sounded in his head.  ’ _The children that weren’t really there_.’  This was ridiculous.  There was no such thing as ghosts.  Sherlock looked frantically around for any signs of cameras of projectors or mirrors, but there were none.  He shone his torch from what he deemed as advantage points, hoping to find a reflection of some sort, but there was nothing.  Sherlock clamped his eyes shut, bringing his hands up to his temples, emerging into his mind palace and sprinting through its long halls, throwing doors open, looking for any indication that he could have been drugged, for that was the only explanation.  These creatures, the man in the mirror, the children and the whispering, _which he could still hear_ \- none of it was real.  He searched his mind palace, bring up memories of the past forty-eight hours, but there was nothing.  He hadn’t done anything out of the unusual , hadn’t eaten or drank anything that John hadn’t, yet John seemed unaffected. 

There had to be something.  

Another scream ripped through the air, jerking Sherlock from his own mind and his eyes flew open, the words “John” spilling from his mouth as he imagined John, facing whatever was in the barn, alone but the sight that was before him, once his eyes opened, left him completely incapable of moving, let alone helping John.  

There, right before him, less than a foot away, was one of the boys.  He had a large gash along his throat, the skin hanging down and flapping gently in the breeze, one of his eyes was missing, bugs crawling around the hollow socket.  Blood, dried and brown from age, covered his top and had dripped down his legs.  And a smile, made bigger by the left side of his mouth being spilt open an extra three inches, spread across his face.  “ _Mine_ ” he whispered and reached a hand out to Sherlocks face.  It was about then that s very high pitched and undignified scream left Sherlocks mouth and his eyes rolled back in his head, just as he passed out.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *The cock ring that Mrs Hudson found on the kitchen table can be viewed at the following website: https://www.wildsecrets.com.au/p/201550/pipedream-cock-ring-ball-banger
> 
> ** The story of the now derelict house, and the story of which I shamelessly stole for this fic, can be found at https://awalkerphotography.wordpress.com/2013/03/21/21313-the-abandoned-slaughter-house-of-meltham/comment-page-1/ . It is the first photograph of the house, with the tyre in the front yard, that I used as inspiration for the story...I tried adding the picture but had no such luck in getting to actually show up!


	3. A Happy Halloween Indeed

~~~~~~~~~~

“Sherlock, wake up love, come, that’s it.  Come back to us.”  Sherlock felt a gentle tapping on his cheek, and there was something warm cupping the back of his head.  Something familiar.  

“That’s it.  Open your eyes for me.” Sherlock listened to the voice and tried to do what it asked, because it sounded like John.  He felt himself frown and then slowly, he cracked open his eyes.  

“There you are.”  Sherlock had been right.  It was John, who was gently cradling the back of his head and encouraging him to wake up, smiling down at him as if Sherlock had just done something particularly clever.  Sherlock liked that smile.  But it didn’t answer why Sherlock was on the ground and why John had had to wake him up.

“Sherlock, do you know where you are?”  John asked, his smile dipping down into a concerned frown.  Sherlock took in the view behind John.  Night sky, lots of stars, trees, the Slaughter House.  Suddenly it all came back to him. 

“John.  We need to leave.  There is someone here.”  John placed a hand on his cheek and smiled at him again.  

“There is no one here, Sherlock” he reassured.

“We’ve been drugged”  Sherlock explained desperately.  “At least, I have.”

Again John shook his head.  “No one’s been drugged, love” and it was then that Sherlock noticed that Johns smile, proud just a few moments ago, was now just a bit too smug.  Sherlock turned his head just a bit to find Lestrade, standing just a few feet away, arms crossed over his chest and looking down at Sherlock with a very bemused grin on his face.  Standing next to him was a very satisfied looking Mycroft.

“What are you doing here” Sherlock sulked and then the pieced clicked together.  His head snapped back to John, which didn’t help with the dizziness that still hadn’t completely abated since waking up, to find that he was all out grinning now.  

“This was all you.”  Sherlock, despite the evidence, could not believe that John had orchestrated this extremely elaborated hoax, just to get back at him for yesterdays prank, but John continued to grin down at Sherlock to confirm that, yes, this was all him.  Sherlocks incredulity turned into something more wounded as he muttered.  “You enlisted Mycrofts help.”

This brought a chuckle from John.  “Well, you didn’t exactly give me a lot of time to plan something on my own now, did you.  And besides, I didn’t ask Mycroft.  I asked Greg, and he asked Mycroft.”

Sherlock just frowned harder and started to sit up.  “Hold on, there”  John cautioned, placing his hand on Sherlocks shoulder and steadying him.  “You fell pretty hard.  How’s your head?”

“Fine” Sherlock muttered, trying not to think about the fact that he had actually fainted.  And before that, oh god, he had…

“You screamed so loud” John said, trying to sound serious, but failing terribly.  “Who knew your voice range could get so _high_?”  At that Sherlock bolted upright and got to his feet as gracefully as possible, despite feeling a bit light headed and ignoring the chuckles coming from both John and Lestrade.  His brother just stood there with an unamused look on his face, like he possibly had better things to be doing.  

“Have we quite finished here?” Sherlock snarled, walking away.

“Aww, don’t be like that, Sherlock” he heard Lestrade call out jovially and then there were the sounds of Johns footsteps rushing up to him.

“Come on, Sherlock, it was a bit of fun.”  Sherlock didn’t stop.  He didn’t even slow down.  “Don’t you want to know how we did it?”  Damn John and his intimate knowledge of Sherlock.  It gave him that horrible advantage of always knowing what card to play.

After a few seconds of fighting off the urge to tell them all to bugger of while not wanting to give into the urge of going back to where Lestrade and Mycroft were standing, Sherlock finally gave in and stalked back to the others, not looking at John at all, to find out how John had actually fooled Sherlock Holmes.

Unfortunately, it had been quite simple, especially with Mycrofts assistance.  Lestrade had taken half the day off of work, only to be called in if a new case arose, in which the whole prank would be cancelled.  John had pulled his lame, harmless and ineffective pranks all day to throw Sherlock off of the fact that he was actually up to something else and also giving Mycrofts men time to set the scene.  That was a case of setting up small projectors and speakers, strategically placed so as not to be seen, then a team of decorators had come through and ‘ _re-dusted_ ’ the house.

Bill O’Donnell was actually a friend of Lestrades and Ellie was in fact his daughter, and apparently an aspiring actress.  Lestrade disappearing had been a simple case of dropping through a fake floor in the wardrobe, to the ground floor and escaping outside while John and Sherlock were frantically searching for him on the upper floors.

“What about the children?”  Sherlock asked.  As the story had unravelled it had become so clear as to how it was carried out and Sherlock was ashamed of himself for not seeing through all the small, now very obvious tricks, but this part, he couldn’t even begin to fathom how they had pulled that bit off.  “They were right here”  and he indicated to the clearing around him.  “I saw them, well, saw through them.  One touched my cheek.”

Apparently it was now time for Mycroft to speak, judging by the slow, yet audible inhale he took before speaking.  “That, brother dear, was me testing new equipment dealing in pre-recorded holograms, and nobody actually touched your cheek.  You passed out before he got quite that close.”  The last bit was said with a small sinister smile and Lestrade could be heard choking back a chuckle next to him.  Sherlock didn’t need to look at John to know he too was grinning.  

Sherlock ignored them all and instead looked to his brother, a narrowed gaze shot in his direction.  “You don’t test equipment, Mycroft.  You class it as leg work.”  

“I made an exception this time” he replied simply, that false smile he so often wore, adorning his lips.  “It is being developed so political leaders are able to give speeches and make public appearances, in any location without actually being present. It is all pre-recorded and uploaded to a small portable hard drive.  Should we be able to perfect the system then the public will be unaware that it is a hologram and not the real person.  As the results of this test were extremely successful…”

“You’re boring me now, Mycroft.  Stop talking.”  Sherlock turned back to Lestrade.  

“So, you told John about this place and he came up with the plan.”  Sherlock was still refusing to acknowledge John.  John wasn’t supposed to outwit Sherlock.  God, how many times had he done it before without it being brought to Sherlocks attention?

“He mentioned a case from here last halloween” John supplied, clearly not caring that Sherlock was ignoring him.  “I remembered it last night and after you fell asleep I messaged him asking if we might be able to use it and when he found out why…”  The sentence was left hanging.  Sherlock didn’t need to hear the rest anyway.

“It was fairly easy to get you to come down here”  Lestrade added, after a small cough to help get rid of his grin.  “Of course John knew it was all bullshit, but I felt he played his part fairly well.”

“Yes, yes…he’s wasted as a doctor, can we go now?”  the answer came in the form of John threading his fingers around Sherlocks, and it was a testament to just how much he did love that man that he didn’t pull away, but wrapped his own fingers around Johns short, warm ones in return.

“I’m pretty sure we’ve finished here” he answered, gently tugging on Sherlocks hand and Sherlock finally looked to him.  While there was a small light of amusement in his eyes, it wasn’t the outright smug expression that Sherlock was expecting and there was the fond smile, that suited John so well, on his lips.  “Back to the hotel.  It’s been a long a night for all of us.”

“Indeed” Mycroft drawled.  “I have a car waiting, not far from here.  You and John are welcome to join Gregory and myself back into town.”

“We’ll walk” Sherlock interjected before the last syllable had finished sliding from between Mycrofts lips.

“It is a twenty minute hike.”

“We’ll walk” Sherlock repeated, glaring at his brother and with a small sigh John thanked Mycroft for his offer and bid both man goodnight before walking with Sherlock, away from the house and towards the trees.

It actually took closer to thirty minutes to reach the hotel that they had booked for the night and by the time they got home it was clear that John was exhausted.  Sherlock didn’t care.  He wasn’t getting off that lightly.

Once they were in the room he had John pushed up against the door and his lips were against Johns while his hands made quick work of Johns jacket, belt and the button and zip on his jeans. 

“That was a very clever move, John” Sherlock panted against the smaller mans ear as he yanked the jumper over his head.  “You really had me believing that I had gone mad.”

Sherlock saw the grin pick up the corners of Johns mouth and decided that he needed to do something about that grin.

“I do remember someone making me beg and plead, not on one, but two occasions last night for doing the exact same thing to them.”  
“I think you’ll find that your reaction was much better” was Johns retort as he reached out to unbutton Sherlocks shirt.  “I mean, you did scream _and_ faint.”

Sherlock held Johns wrist, aborting the movement of his hands.  “Well, then, I guess this means the punishment will be worse.”

John just grinned again.  “We all know I have the upper hand when it comes to control in the bedroom, Sherlock.”

“We thought the same about me and being able to fool you, John” Sherlock purred, and let go of Johns wrists to pull his shirt over his head.  Once the top half of him was naked he directed John back to the bed and pushed him down so he was sitting on the mattress.  

“Get undressed and lay in the centre of the bed” Sherlock ordered and walked over to his suitcase, rolling his coat off of is shoulders in the process, letting it drop to the floor. 

“And if I don’t?” John asked, not moving.

“Then I won’t just delay your orgasm tonight, John.  I will outright deny it.”

“As if you could.”

“Try me” and with that, Sherlock dropped to his knees and started rummaging through their suitcase.

Behind him he could hear John slowly removing his clothes, folding each item carefully.  When Sherlock had found what he wanted he stood up and walked back to the bed where John was indeed, lying in the centre a challenging grin on his face.  

Sherlock chucked his supplies on the bed and toed his shoes off.  He reached down to remove his socks and then rolled up the sleeves on his shirt.  John just cocked an eyebrow in his direction, clearly unsure as to why Sherlock was still clothed at all.  Sherlock just gave him a lazy grin in return and climbed on the bed.  

“I don’t trust you to follow orders” Sherlock explained as he straddled Johns pelvis, ignoring the way Johns arousal was nudging his thigh.  “So, I’m tying your hands up” he informed John, holding up the silk scarves that had tied his own hands just last night.  It took less than a minute to have both of Johns wrists tied together and then tied to the headboard above his head.  

Surprisingly, John stayed silent throughout the entire process, so in order to garner a result from the man under him, Sherlock rolled his clothed hips, applying pressure to Johns cock and as predicted a muffled moan could be heard from behind is clamped lips.  Sherlock smiled again.  Let him hold it all in for now.  Later on, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself no matter how hard he tried.

Sherlock leaned over and attached his teeth around Johns nipple.  The reaction was instant as he applied a bit more pressure than was generally arousing and John arched up towards his mouth, a sharp huff leaving his nose as he still kept his lips clamped shut.  Sherlock laved attention to the little nub, biting and sucking and licking before moving his attention down, knowing it would drive John crazy that the other nipple didn’t receive the same attention.  Sherlock ignored Johns whimpers of protest and continued down his abdomen, sucking and nipping marks into his skin that would darken to a light purple come morning.  

Sherlock buried his nose in Johns inguinal crease and inhale deeply.  There were traces of sweat and the citrus body wash that John was currently using and also the musk that was just John.  His hips thrusted slightly towards Sherlock, clearly indicating what he wanted, but Sherlock had plans for John and they most certainly did not involve paying any attention to the very engorged cock that twitched against Johns belly in anticipation of what was to come.  It would have to anticipate for a bit longer yet.  

Sherlock continued to move down Johns body leaving a small trail of kisses along Johns inner thighs.  His tongue increased the backs of Johns knees, causing the man above him to let out a small whimper.  Next were his ankles, an extremely unexpected, yet very responsive, erogenous zone that Sherlock had discovered quite by accident.  His fingers massaged and his lips sucked on the flesh while Johns small whimpers tuned into moans.  Sherlock left Johns ankles and moved onto his feet, licking a strip along the bottom of his left foot, holding the foot firm to stop John from pulling away due to being ticklish there, and then spent time sucking each toe into his mouth before repeating the same actions on the other foot.  

By now a fine sheen of sweat had covered Johns entire body and Sherlock was rock hard in his own pants.  He could ignore it, after all, he had ignored it for over a decade before John came along.

Sherlock knelt up and leant over Johns body.  His fingers left a soft trail down the sensitive underside of Johns arms, making the man squirm.  He nosed just behinds Johns ear, his tongue darting out to leave tiny kitten licks on the skin from his hair line down to the base of his neck, where he attached his lips and sucked.  Hard. John was moaning quite loudly now and a glance down saw that he had started to produce pre-come, just a few drops.  

Pulling back away from Johns body, the man groaned out a gasped “Sherlock” unsure as to why he had stopped completely touching him.  

“Shh” Sherlock reassured softly and reached to the end of the bed where his supplies were.  It didn’t take long for his fingers to find the layered rings of metal beads and without showing John what he had in his hands he rolled the stroker beads over Johns cock.

A cry left Johns mouth as his hips arched off of the bed as the five rows of tiny metal beads rolled down his sensitive cock, supplying the only bit of pleasure since they had started.  Sherlock stroked them back up once and then back down before moving his hands away from John’s cock, leaving the man, once again, without any stimulation.  

As John thrusted up, desperate for any form of stimulation, Sherlock settled himself between Johns legs.  “I will tie your legs as well” he warned as grabbed John by the back of the thighs and pushed his legs against his chest.  It had taken a while to get John flexible enough to hold this position comfortably, but Sherlock thought it was time well spent.  With an evil smirk at Johns frustrated/petulant frown, Sherlock ducked his head and then without any warning what so ever he swiped his tongue over Johns hole.  The cry that left his mouth in response was almost loud enough to get the neighbouring room complaining.  Sherlock took some pleasure in knowing that he was going to keep Lestrade awake for the next hour or so!

Sherlock continued to cover Johns arse in bites and licks, sucking and kissing at the taught flesh, relishing in the way John writhed against his face as Sherlocks tongue travelled up his gluteal cleft, only to swirl around the puckered flesh before worming its was into the tight hole.  When the tip pushed through the now relaxed ring of muscle John let out a howl of pleasure, his hips bucking up despite Sherlock pushing down on his thighs to help anchor him down onto the bed.  Sherlocks tongue was relentless, pushing in and pulling out, swirling around the smooth walls, his lips pushing against the outer rim as he sucked and licked.  One hand left Johns thigh and wrapped itself around the base of Johns cock, over the stroker beads, and quickly he began to stroke, varying the pressure as his hand rolled the rows of beads over Johns very hard, very red, leaking cock.

“Fuck, Sherlock….Don’t…I need…I’m going to…”

Sherlock smirked and withdrew his tongue and unwrapped his hand from around Johns penis, pulling a whimper from John as pitiful as the howl had been lust filled.  “Sherlock” he almost sobbed, his hips pushing up and his hands pulling on the binds.  

“Still sure I wouldn’t deny you an orgasm, John.”  Sherlocks look was dark as the tip of his tongue ran over his top lip, the taste of John still filling his mouth.  With that thought he leant down and placed his lips on Johns and kissed him, pushing his tongue into Johns mouth.  John moaned into the kiss.  Sherlock had found out, early on into their relationship, that John liked tasting himself on Sherlocks lips and tongue and would hungrily lap at Sherlocks mouth after he had performed anything oral on the man.  This had somewhat surprised Sherlock but he had been happy to indulge the man in his little kink, as Sherlock, too found it a turn on.  He pulled back, just as Johns tongue found it’s way into his mouth.  

“Sherlock” he gasped again.  Sherlock didn’t answer.  Instead he undid the button and zipper on his trousers and pushed them and his pants down, just enough to allow his cock to spring out.  Slowly he stroked his hand up and down his length, watching as John hungrily watched his movements.

“I’m going to fuck your mouth, John” Sherlock told him casually.  The only response he got was John swallowing, hard.  “I’m going to fuck your mouth, and if you do a good job, I might think about letting you come.”  John just nodded, his eyes still on Sherlocks hand gently massaging the head of his cock.  He pulled his fingers away and smeared the pre-come he had gathered between thumb and finger.  He straddled Johns chest, thrusting his thumb and finger into Johns mouth at the same time.  John licked at the tips of Sherlocks fingers, sucking around the digits, his eyes closed as he got a sample of what was to come.  When John looked like he was enjoying it a bit too much Sherlock pulled his fingers out and without waiting another second he moved forwards and pushed his cock between John’s lips.  He had the grace to give John a few seconds to get used to his lips stretched around Sherlocks girth before he pulled back and pushed back in.  Slowly to start off with.  As he pulled out, John ran his tongue around the head, paying attention to the slit, before Sherlock thrust back in again with a bit more force than what he usually adopted when John gave him head.  He pulled out and thrust back in again and again getting harder and faster until he was fucking Johns mouth without abandon.  A few times he heard John choke, and he could see the tears streaming down Johns temples, but John looked up at him the entire time, hardly taking the time to blink, the indication that he was more than happy for Sherlock to keep abusing his mouth.  Sherlock fucked harder, bracing himself on the headboard of the bed, moaning and crying out Johns name as the pleasure built up, coiling in the base of his abdomen, hot and liquid, waiting to spill over and a few more thrusts later and Sherlock was crying out as orgasm washed through his body, pulsing three, four times into Johns mouth.  After he had finished spending into Johns mouth he pulled out, a filthy slurping noise following as a trail of come followed him spilling over Johns chin as the smaller man tried to swallow everything that was in his mouth.  Sherlock sat back on Johns chest, hand still braced on the headboard, head hanging between his shoulders as the small shivers ran through his body, slowly becoming less and less.

Sherlock looked down at John, his eyes still watery staring back up at Sherlock, his lips, red and swollen open enough for tiny pants of air to escape through, come smeared across his lips and chin.   “I didn’t want to come just yet” Sherlock complained lightly and then rolled off of John, to flop down next to him, his head mere inches away from his shoulder.  

“Sherlock” John rasped, his eyes wide and his face and chest flushed.  There was a hint of desperation in his voice.  

Sherlock, feeling that it was probably a bit not nice to leave John hanging any longer, sat up and repositioned himself back between Johns splayed legs.  Johns cock was red and heavy and leaking all over his belly and it reminded Sherlock of an angry volcano getting ready to erupt.  

Reaching back for the lube at the end of the bed, Sherlock squirted a rather generous amount onto his hand left hand and coated his fingers on his right hand.

“Do you know what it does to me when you actually do something clever, John” Sherlock knew John would get him back for that comment later, but at the moment he was too desperate to come.  

“I get the picture” John replied, voice broken by panted breaths and sheer frustration.  

“If you can still give me sass, Doctor Watson, then I clearly haven’t worked you hard enough” and without any warning he thrust a long finger into John, crooking it down to the bundle of nerves he had memorised the location of.  With an almighty cry, definitely loud enough to warrant a complaint from the neighbouring room, John’s back arched and his hands pulled tighter than they had all evening on his bonds. “God, Sherlock…please” he pleaded, his hips pushing down for more.  Despite John not having any other male partners before, Sherlock had been surprised at how eagerly he had taken to being the bottom, not at all uncomfortable with having things pushed into his arse.  In fact, when turned on like this, he became quite slutty, begging for it.  

“Please what, John?” Sherlock asked coyly as he thrust his finger in and out of John.  

“You said I could come.” 

Sherlock added another finger and John keened loudly, his hips pistoning down and back up, trying to get more of Sherlock inside of him.  

“And how should we do that?” Sherlock asked, his fingers moving faster, grazing over John’s prostate every now and then.

“In me” John sobbed.  “I need you in me. More.”

Sherlock leant down and licked the semen that had smeared around Johns bellybutton.  “But I already came, John.  Down your throat.  Your moth did too good a job.”

John whimpered as Sherlock pulled his two fingers out, only to groan again when it was replaced by three.  “Like this” John panted, pushing down harder, his hole clenching around Sherlocks fingers, then cried out “More!” 

Sherlock slid another finger in and then used his thumb to push up under and against Johns perineum, eliciting yet another howl from John.  “Harder” John cried out, his fingers twisting against themselves as he desperately tried to get his hands on his much neglected cock, knowing that he couldn’t come from penetration alone.  

After a few more minutes of watching the man writhe and hump against Sherlocks hand, swearing and sobbing for harder, for more!  Sherlock finally decided he had suffered enough and wrapped his hand around the stroker beads once more.  John husked out a throaty cry of relief and Sherlock tightened his grip and then started stroking the hard, heavy cock in his hands, the small metal balls of the sex toy rolling between the hard flesh of John’s cock and Sherlock’s hand.  John bucked, clearly torn between thrusting down onto fingers and pushing up into Sherlock’s hand.

“God, you look so desperate, John, so whorish, like you can’t get enough.”  John was over worked and over stimulated.  If he didn’t come soon, Sherlock was going to have to remove all the props and gently coax the orgasm out of him.  “You’ve got four of my fingers, John, _four,_ and you take them all so well” and at those words Sherlock swept his fingers over Johns prostate as his hand twisted the beads, a quarter turn around the top of his cock and on the stroke down, John finally came, long ribbons of semen spurting out of his cock and streaking his torso, from navel to sternum.  After his cock had spent itself dry Sherlock rolled the stroker beads off of John completely, carful not to apply too much pressure to what was bound to be an extremely oversensitive penis, and threw them to the floor.  He then untied Johns wrists and gently rubbed them until the circulation was flowing properly and the red marks around his wrist began to look less angry.  “Wait here” he murmured and got off the bed and made his way to the bathroom.  Stripping off his clothes and giving him self a quick clean up, Sherlock made his way back to John and wiped John down then threw the flannel onto the floor also.  Gently tugging the quilt from under John he wrapped it around the man’s, still shivering body and crawled in with him, curling into Johns side and placing and arm across his stomach, pulling him closer.  

“Thank you John” he mumbled against Johns shoulder.

John just gave a questioning grunt like noise, too buggered to actually form words.

“You provided a most interesting day and you have given me something to work towards.”

“Hmmm?” was the sleepy response he got from his partner as the smaller man completely relaxed into Sherlocks embrace.

“Yes.  Now I have the next 12 months to devise a plan to get back at both you and Lestrade.”

John let out a huff of a chuckle before dipping into slumber finally and Sherlock kissed the top of his head.  “Happy Halloween, John.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These are the stroker beads that Sherlock used on John can be found here, but I like to think that they used metal ones, not plastic ones! https://www.wildsecrets.com.au/p/130593/california-exotic-ultimate-stroker-beads


End file.
